


Lightning Never Strikes Twice

by worldtravellingfly



Series: Self Inserts [12]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: (attempted), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, DO NOT POST ELSEWHERE, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Kindness is not Weakness, Napoleonic Wars, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pragmatic Women, Regency, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Soulmates, We Die Like Men, Women helping Women, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldtravellingfly/pseuds/worldtravellingfly
Summary: Colonel Fitzwilliam and his batman are on a short ride in the Portuguese countryside around Lisbon when lightning strikes the road out of a clear blue sky. When they have calmed their horses, a lady is lying on the ground. From there, things take a turn for the strange.
Relationships: Colonel Fitzwilliam (Pride and Prejudice)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Self Inserts [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/925266
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	1. The Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement intended.

######  _ 1: _

Major Fitzwilliam and his batman, Smith, were enjoying their ride in the countryside around Lisbon. 

It was a nice day, the sun was not too hot, and a refreshing breeze kept them and their horses cool enough.

Therefore the lightning hitting the path right in front of them did not just spook their mounts.

Chestnut almost bucked Fitzwilliam off, trying to run off. 

He had trouble holding onto the reigns. 

“Shh,” he muttered under his breath, “it’s alright, Chestnut. Calm down. Shhh.”

With one eye, Fitzwilliam saw Smith doing the same to his bay gelding. 

It took some time until the horses had calmed. But even once there was no more danger of them running off heedlessly, they nervously danced in place. Ears swiveling in every possible direction. 

Regardless of this, the two men returned to watching the road.

Instead of a crater or the like, there seemed to be a person lying on the dirt. Breathing.

Cautiously, they approached. 

Chestnut whinnied softly, but he patted his neck in reassurance.

It was a woman.

Young, perhaps twenty years of age, he would estimate, dressed in a rather outlandish fashion.

He had never seen the like before, which, as he had participated in the Season for quite a few years under the command of his mother, was rather an astonishing fact.

The dress the young woman was wearing did not reach her knees, which was rather scandalous in its own right. It was fashioned from a dark blue lace, with a matching shift underneath.

She was wearing strange stockings a shade darker than her skin; only noticeable because they gleamed softly in the sun.

There was neither a bonnet nor a lady’s slipper to be seen anywhere around her. 

The shoes on the lady’s feet were dyed a rather dark red, and robuster in style than any he’d ever encountered.

His eyes were drawn back to her face by the glittering of small red gems in the sunlight. 

Garnets, if he was not much mistaken. 

A delicate necklace was draped around her neck, earrings contrasted against her pale skin. There was even a bracelet studded with the tiny gems, as well as a ring. 

To be sure, the mysteriously appearing stranger looked more appropriately dressed for a ball than a leisurely stroll in the countryside. 

Fitzwilliam and Smith exchanged a quick glance, both having slid off their horses. And discreetly drawn their pistols. (As far as they could see, no one else seemed to be present.)

The body of the young lady (to be so richly adorned with gemstones must denote some kind of gentry, to be sure) twitched. 

Fitzwilliam nodded to his man; the both of them assuming positions to cut off any escape attempts. 

The stranger groaned softly, rolling to her side before opening her eyes. 

They were a startling ocean blue. 

A moment later, she propped herself up with her hands and began to sit up carefully.

Her eyes flitted from his red coat, to the pistol in Smith’s hands, to the horses, to the dried out landscape surrounding them. 

“Well,  _ fuck _ ,” she croaked, flopping back onto the dirt. 

Fitzwilliam stared at the woman for a long moment as his brain tried to comprehend what had occurred. 

He scrambled to pull back his sleeve, exposing the mark he had been granted on his 18th birthday. 

It had turned golden. 

His eyes darted back to the woman, a long, mostly silent sigh escaping him. 

Then he bowed. 

“Enchanté, madam.”

* * *

Henny blinked at the man in the nutcracker getup— her  _ soulmate _ — (somewhere, deep inside her brain, a part of her was laughing hysterically). 

“Pleased to meet you too. I’m guessing we are not in a,” she thought for a moment, “ _ play _ of some sort, are we?”

“I’m afraid not, madam. This is indeed reality.”

Okay. Alright. This was  _ fine _ . Or at least it would be, there was no need to panic.

Just because he looked like he was from a period drama, and spoke like it too, and clearly thought she was a little gaga, didn’t mean they  _ actually  _ were in a period drama. Right?

“What date is today?” Henny managed to get out. Her throat was oddly raspy. 

“It’s the (REDACTED) of the (REDACTED) in 1808. Allow me to introduce my man and myself, Madam.”

Henny nodded absentmindedly. To be quite honest, she was still working on believing that  _ this _ was real, and that she was talking to her  _ soulmate _ and it was all a bit much. 

“This is Samuel Smith, my batman, and I am Richard Fitzwilliam, Major of the Foot (REDACTED).”

Both men bowed to her. 

Almost in the same move, Fitzwilliam discreetly stowed away his gun. 

Henny blinked, then realized that they expected her to reply. “Pleased to make your acquaintance Major, Mr. Smith. I apologize for my slowness, but I’m afraid I had a bit of a shock. I am Henrike Swanhilda (REDACTED), lately of Germany.”

Did that sound period appropriate enough? 

She rubbed a hand over her forehead. It was aching something fierce. (Most likely not helped by the fact that here she was, lying on the ground, while two horses and their riders stared at her.)

Whatever had just happened, her body had clearly decided to enact revenge. 

Fucking time travel. If that was actually what this was. 

Henny was still skeptical. 

“Where is your carriage? Your companion? Your luggage?” Major Fitzwilliam asked, looking at the area around them as if a suitcase would magically sprout around them. 

She blinked again, trying to figure out what the correct response would be. 

The silence dragged on for what felt like forever. 

“I don’t have anything but what you see here, it appears.” 

The men exchanged a quick look, but didn’t comment. 

Horse 1 and 2 nervously snorted.

“But how did you get here?” Major Fitzwilliam asked, patting his stallion’s neck. 

Henny had no idea how to answer that. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, but sent a glance in Smith’s direction. 

Could she trust them both?

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

She was supposed to be able to depend on her soulmate, right? ( _ Her soulmate, holy shit, what the fuck ever? _ ) 

She had not expected a servant. Or whatever a batman was. 

The Major scrutinized her face for a long moment. 

Henny wasn’t sure whether she should get up or not. On the one hand, the sand would be hell to get out of her hair and dress later. On the other, if she needed to throw up or fainted, it was much better to be closer to the ground. 

Though she usually wasn’t one for fainting, headaches usually weren’t predictable. Not for her. 

After a rather awkward eternal silence, which no one present quite seemed to know how to fill, Major Fitzwilliam abruptly turned to Mr. Smith. 

“Ride back to camp and speak to the colonel. Tell him I have met my soulmate and require his permission to marry. Come back with his response and organize what appropriate clothing you can procure on short notice. Ask Mrs. Gowan whether she would be willing to house Miss Henrike for tonight.”

Something unspoken passed between them as the Major handed over a small stack of coins. 

As soon as Smith was reasonably out of earshot, Henny would definitely be interrogated. Oh joy. 

This was definitely not how she expected this meeting to go. Then again, she could hardly have expected to  _ travel back in time _ or that her soulmate was a nutjob. 

He helped her into the shade of a tree nearby, all the while seeming to study her very intently. 

Major Fitzwilliam was not a contender for Sexiest Man Alive, by far. On one hand, he was just barely taller than her, but his face was not quite symmetrical. He was strangely broad shouldered and stocky at the same time. 

Nonetheless, he had dark hair and intelligent silver-gray eyes. They were strangely warm, for such a cool color. He was approximately her age as well. 

So far, so good. 

She discreetly checked his ring finger for a wedding ring, but there was nothing there. 

His uniform —  _ really,  _ why  _ red? _ — fit him perfectly and even his — to her — massive horse, for all her inexperience, looked well. 

“How did you really come to be here?”

“I honestly don’t know. You see, I’m at an impasse. One of us  _ must _ be delusional and the jury is still out on which of us it is.”

His lips twitched. “That bad?”

“No, you see, last  _ I _ checked, it was June, 5,  _ 2017 _ .”

Major Fitzwilliam stared at her, blinked, paled, and then regained his color. (He had attained a nice tan, probably from his service in... wherever they were.)

For a moment it looked like he wanted to settle down next to her, but instead he paced. 

Henny followed him with her eyes, but left him to sort himself out. It sounded  _ insane  _ and she couldn’t blame him for needing a minute or ten. (After all, she wasn’t quite sure this whole weird thing was  _ real _ .)

“I see.”

Henny severely doubted he did. 

“You know, I was at university and attempting to figure out how to get home when there was a thunderstorm. I have no clue how I ended up in…” she waved at the general area. 

The horse snorted. 

Major Fitzwilliam stared at her in silent contemplation once again. 

She noticed that his eyes flicked down to her legs every so often. What was so fascinating about her knees? Did she have a rip in her tights?

“I can assure you, Madam, we are both in Portugal; I should know since I have been deployed here for a good number of weeks now. You appeared as lightning hit the road in front of us.” 

A small pause stretched into seeming eternity. 

Henny tried to suppress the urge to wring her hands and failed. 

A litany of curses filled her brain, but she would  _ not _ let them come out. Yet. 

“However,” Major Fitzwilliam continued, “I believe you. I am afraid that we do not have much of a choice in marrying before the week is out.”

Henny grimaced, her head pounding. “Why?”

“In the spirit of honesty you have chosen to employ towards me, I shall reply. Unfortunately, I am afraid that lodgings are rather scarce at the moment and I cannot afford to put you up with one of the local families,” the Major replied very politely. “So you must stay with your soulmate. The colonel himself is also not married so he cannot host you either.”

She noticed that his ears were burning. Oh dear. Henny had probably hurt his male ego or something with her question. 

“Is it...not acceptable for us to stay together if we are not married?” she asked next, grimacing as the pounding in her head increased. 

“No,” he replied without having to think. He turned to his horse, avoiding her eyes. Instead, he fiddled with the saddle. “It will be assumed that I have...  _ dishonored _ you.”

Oh Jesus Christ and all his saints.  _ When _ exactly was she supposed to have ended up again? The Middle Ages? 

“Yes, we can’t have that,” Henny muttered, closing her eyes. Was this a migraine or had she actually managed to hit her head? 

Wait, hadn’t he mentioned something about a woman?

“What about this Mrs. Gowan?”

Major Fitzwilliam turned back around, though he didn’t meet her eyes. 

“She is the wife of one of the captains and has been on campaign with her husband for several years now. I know them well, and I think they can take you in for the night. But I cannot ask them to provide for you for longer than that.”

Henny desperately wanted to know  _ why _ . But it probably had something to do with money. And pride. Was it worth it to ask?

If this was a dream, she’d like to get to the fun part now please. 

He seemed to sense part of her thoughts. His eyes roamed over the surrounding countryside as he explained: “Mrs. Gowan is very busy; she is managing the laundry and I do not wish to burden her. They do not have much, but so does no one. We have only recently been able to free this part of the country from the French and their Spanish allies.”

Henny took a deep breath. She pictured all of her burning questions and the protests and ire at not being  _ asked _ — the presumption of this man! — and let it go. There would be time later. 

“So, what else do I absolutely have to know? Let’s assume that I know nothing about this period of time. It is about 200 years before —“

Major Fitzwilliam nodded. 

“Smith will procure appropriate clothing for you, although I’m afraid it won’t be bespoke or as luxurious as you deserve.”

Henny held up a hand. “Please let me decide what I do not or do deserve, Major. I understand the situation: you did not expect to meet me in these circumstances. Quite frankly, I did not expect to meet you in these circumstances either. We just have to do our best and be honest with each other.”

Major Fitzwilliam nodded seriously. 

“In any case, the colonel will give his permission — asking for it is mere formality in our case. I have a copy of a rough draft for a marriage contract in my possession which I will amend to fit our current situation. If the colonel approves, which I am certain he will, he will sign it and so will you. There is a small church in the area. I doubt the reverend will mind much marrying us.”

Henny nodded. “To summarize: you have arranged for us to marry so I won’t unduly strain the resources of your man and his wife. But won’t I strain  _ your _ resources? I have nothing of value except my jewelry and I’m not sure what, if anything, you’d get for that.”

He shook his head. Rather energetically. “I refuse to sell your jewelry. It is  _ yours _ . And I have enough money for the both of us, although it won’t be a life of luxury, I’m afraid.”

Henny discreetly rolled her eyes. There was that word again!  _ Luxury _ ! As if she gave a fuck about that! 

Deciding to talk about it again at some later point, she bit her tongue until she had her temper under regulation again. 

There were other things to consider. (Did they still burn witches in this time?)

Then she leaned her upper body back against the tree. “I doubt anyone else will believe that I just magically appeared right in front of you.”

That earned her a small smile. 

“I suggest that you say you have lost your memory. We can fabricate a letter, sadly quite torn but enough to indicate your first name and perhaps a bit of black wax. Your head is aching, is it not?”

Henny confirmed that suspicion. 

Before continuing, he offered her a water drenched handkerchief. It was embroidered with what she assumed were his initials and flowers. 

Reluctantly grateful, she put it on her neck, hoping it would soothe her raging head at least a little. 

They both thought for a while, neither saying anything. 

“Perhaps you and a relative were leaving Portugal for your native country due to a family emergency. The lack of luggage would imply a carriage accident or robbery. We shall leave the speculation to others. Inquiries will be made but sadly turn up empty,” suggested the Major. 

Henny had no problem with pretending to have lost her memory. “That could neatly solve the issue of why I would not be aware of what you consider the basics. Manners and expectations have changed significantly over time, you see.”

The Major agreed. “I will make sure to introduce you to the wives of officers and ask them to take care of you while you recover.” Then he seemed to remember her university mention. “What have you studied?”

There was a certain amount of surprise and curiosity in his voice. 

Henny wasn’t sure she appreciated it. 

“I have a degree in English and French. This comprised the study of the languages, linguistics, culture, and history. I can speak both fluently, as well as German, Swedish, some Spanish, and Italian.” 

Henny took a deep breath to buy herself more time. What else was important in this time period?

“I can cook, but it will probably be very different from what you are used to. I have never had anything other than a modern stove, which does not use coal or wood. I can embroider, but not as well as your handkerchief. I have a basic understanding of mathematics, history, politics, and so on. I can paint — badly — and I had violin lessons as a child. I am also trained in first aid.”

“First aid?”

“Taking care of injured or ill people, in emergencies. I am good with budgets? To be honest, I don’t know what you need to know.”

Major Fitzwilliam smiled at her. “That will do very well for now. I am the third son of an Earl, and we will have to live off of a very limited income. I do not have a house of my own. When I am on leave, I stay with my parents or relatives. Once we are married, I will apply for leave to introduce you to my family. While we are in Town, I will also make sure to formally file our marriage contract and change my will. If we are to be blessed with children, new arrangements must be made of course.”

Henny appreciated being told as concisely as that what to expect in her near future. Mooching off of rich aristocratic relatives? Cool. Talk of dying and  _ children _ ? Cool. Cool cool cool. 

Everything was  _ fine _ . Great.  _ Cool.  _

“Do you expect to have ...what euphemism do you want me to use? Marital congress? When we are married?”

He blushed — it looked kind of endearing. 

Henny distantly wanted to pinch his cheeks and coo. She also pushed down that impulse. 

“No! No, of course not. We hardly know each other and — you deserve better than a tent.”

Well she wouldn’t disabuse him of  _ that _ notion, for sure. 

“I see. I suggest we table this discussion for later? In my...  _ time _ , couples would talk more openly about their desires and wishes. I hope you don’t mind?”

“I do not,” he nodded empathetically. “I hope we shall be friends.”

Henny assumed the budgeting issue had played at least a little into that decision making process. 

“I hope we will treat each other with respect.”

The Major sighed. “You  _ must _ obey me in public. I do not know what the law and customs of your time are, however, here, you are bound to me. We exist as one entity to the law.”

Henny swallowed. She had forgotten that part of her favorite period dramas. Damn. 

“I see.”

“In private, we can be equals,” he hurried to assure her. 

Ah yes. It would hurt his dignity or reputation or whatever to be seen as inferior to his wife. 

“You mentioned you were the third son? How many siblings do you have?” Henny decided to change the subject. She could freak out later. 

Because apparently she was getting _married_ in the _very_ near future, to her _soulmate_ , and she had supposedly _time traveled after being hit by lightning_. 

Honestly, it was a miracle she wasn’t rolled up in the foetal position and crying yet. 

Major Fitzwilliam relaxed a bit. His horse was grazing on the little green available. 

“Two older brothers and an older sister. I am the youngest of four. My sister and oldest brother are both married, but the next oldest is single. He has been given a living in the South. Do you have siblings?”

“Only a younger sister. She studies the law and wants to become a judge. My mother is a prosecutor and had a foible for ridiculous names. Hence, Henrike Swanhilda.”

The Major smiled, though his eyes were wide. 

Women becoming judges and prosecutors must be very weird to him. 

“Oh, perhaps I should write the letter. I doubt your handwriting would not be recognized.”

The Major offered her paper, a quill (a real feather quill!), and ink from his saddlebag. 

Henny ended up using the saddle as a sort of table, doing her best not to spread ink around and making her writing as legible as possible. 

“Hm,  _ My dearest Henrike Swanhilda _ might be a bit on the nose?”

“Not if you have an officious older relative,” the Major demurred. 

Henny raised an eyebrow at the certainty in his tone, but no explanation was forthcoming. 

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“Mayhap continue with:  _ it is my sad office to inform you of the death of your dear mother _ .”

“That certainly sounds posh enough,” she nodded. “ _ It was an unexpected illness that carried her away? _ ”

“‘Carried her off’ would do better, I think.”

Henny shrugged. He would know. “Will anyone be able to read it in German?”

“There are a few who favor Mozart and Goethe,” the Major answered. 

Henny took that as ‘yes’ and continued writing. She painted a rather grim picture of her fictional mother dying of some unknown illness. 

Major Fitzwilliam had to intervene a few times in an effort to contain the gruesomeness. (“I dare say it sounds suspiciously like something from a horrid novel.” Henny glared at him: “I only write amazing novels, thank you very much.” He had no reply to that.)

After she was done, he sealed the letter but made sure to destroy it very carefully. (Rubbing the paper on the ground and gleefully drenching it in water.)

Well, at least one of them was enjoying themselves. 

There was another lengthy silence, which had the awkwardness rising again. 

Nothing else needed to be done, as far as Henny knew, so there were no distractions. 

“Tell me more of your family,” the Major asked eventually. 

Henny considered what to reply. “My grandparents are very old but I love them dearly. I was named after my maternal grandmother, you know. My parents are divorced —“

Major Fitzwilliam drew in a sharp breath. He had paled and his eyes were wide with shock. 

Henny watched as he more or less flopped to the ground next to her. 

Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints. No, really,  _ all _ of them. 

What exactly was he thinking had happened? Would she be shamed by association or whatever?

“Oh, don’t worry. That is much more common and accepted in my time.”

The Major nodded, asking her to continue. 

“I don’t know what my father is doing and quite honestly, I don’t care. My only surviving cousin lives in England, but we only write about once or twice a year. I have a great aunt and a few uncles who also don’t keep close contact.”

Major Fitzwilliam adjusted his position on the ground next to her. “Like I mentioned, I am the youngest of four children. My father has two sisters: Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Anne Darcy. My Aunt de Bourgh has a daughter and lives in Kent. My Aunt Darcy died about ten years ago; she has a son and daughter. I am close with my cousin Darcy, and we share guardianship of his sister. His father died in the beginning of this year.”

Henny murmured her condolences. 

“My eldest brother, Viscount Alexander Milton, has two daughters, Jane and Mary. My sister, Lady Margaret, has three children: a son and two daughters.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” 

“I am glad you think so. My mother, Lady Matlock, has two brothers and a sister, who also married and produced a number of cousins. But I shan’t overwhelm you quite yet.”

Henny grinned. Then a thought popped into her head. “How old are you?” She’d blurted it out before she could stop herself. 

“I am recently turned 27.”

Apparently, the Major was too much of a gentleman to return the question. 

“I am 23, but I will turn 24 in November.”

His eyes lit up. “I am glad we are not too far apart in age.”

“So am I.”

Before their conversation could continue much longer, a dust cloud on the horizon appeared. 

Smith was on his way back. 

He had brought a short note for the Major and a large parcel for Henny. 

The two men chivalrously (hey, she could use posh words too) turned away, ostensibly watching over their surroundings. 

Henny unpacked her new outfit and almost cried. From laughter. How was she supposed to put this on by herself?

And  _ what _ was supposed to go  _ where _ ?

“Oh dear,” she whispered. 

There was a nearly see-through linen or cotton dress, a more opaque white dress, a corset, overknee socks, two embroidered ribbons which she had absolutely no clue were for what, and more. 

“Oh  _ dear _ ,” Henny repeated, mostly to herself. 

Assuming the pink dress was the last layer, one of the white things had to be first, right? 

Deciding to just go for it, she undressed (leaving only her panties on) and slipped into the slightly thicker white dress. 

Poking the corset, she tried to figure out how to put it on. 

“Do you require aid?” Major Fitzwilliam offered. He sounded very reluctant. 

This whole thing was probably destroying his brain and about a hundred etiquette rules or something. 

“I am afraid I do.”

He did his best to not look at her while demonstrating how the corset (“those are stays, Madam.”) was supposed to sit. 

Eventually, Henny managed to position it as explained, but the next layer (“petticoat”) was a complete mystery to her. There were too many ribbons. 

Apparently that was not a new thing in women’s clothing. Who knew. 

The Major attempted to explain how it worked several times, a blush staining his cheeks, until he gave up and just helped her sort it out. 

He had a gentle touch. 

What would it be like to hug him? Probably like hugging one of those giant teddy bears. Only more scratchy because of that ridiculous uniform. 

Henny tried to remember every step. 

The only hiccup seemed to be his embarrassment. 

Henny didn’t get why he was so awkward. It was not like she was standing there naked, after all. 

He helped her tie a ribbon in the back, which ran under her bust, securing the last layer. 

She managed to put on the ridiculous straw hat by herself though. A fact she was equally ridiculously proud of. (It required a ribbon being tied under her chin! She wasn’t a child any longer and hadn’t had one of these kinds of sunhats even then.)

After everything was secured and packed away, her  _ soulmate _ heaved her on top of his gigantic horse. A feat remarkably easily accomplished. (Henny was not exactly as thin and light as a fashion model.)

Then he climbed on, sitting behind her. 

“I apologize for the closeness, but I wish for you to avoid suffering a fall.”

Henny couldn’t complain. Not that she had wanted to in the first place. He was really easy to like. She  _ liked _ having him in her personal space. (Maybe he was uncomfortable with that though?)

And they were soulmates. Her mark definitely had turned the golden color everyone wanted. At least that part seemed to be true. (But what if she was only dreaming this? What if she woke up in the morning, mark still just as black as ever?)

She could definitely not tell him that this was her first time on a horse since she was 8 years old. 

In any case, they rode for some time through the countryside until they reached a scene from some sort of history channel documentary. 

Men in red coats everywhere. Going about their business, laughing, playing cards, taking care of their weapons. 

Smoke was rising from several small fires, a few having an old fashioned pot cooking food. 

The Major slid off his horse, leading it through the camp to the biggest tent she could see. 

Once there, he helped her down. His hands were warm around her waist, but dry, and she wanted to lean into the touch. 

The colonel — she was introduced at once — inquired after her head and studied the letter from her ‘family’. 

Then he talked to her soulmate for a bit longer. 

Apparently her input was not required or wanted. (Henny resolutely told herself that she was  _ not _ fuming. After all, this was  _ not real _ and she really couldn’t fault her brain for conjuring an ass.)

A few moments later, two boys were sent off, clutching small notes. 

“Miss Henrike, I will retrieve the marriage contract in a moment. Is there anything you require? Perhaps some wine?”

“No, thank you. I will be fine.”

The Major sent her a long look but bowed and left. 

Meanwhile, a woman about Henny’s age approached them. 

The colonel introduced her as Mrs. Gowan. 

“Mrs. Gowan has volunteered to provide lodgings and prepare you for your wedding,” with that he finished those introductions. 

“I have heard about your plight, Miss. Do not worry, we shall have you set to rights in a moment. Come, I shall introduce you to the other ladies.”

Mrs. Gowan was a rather short woman, not fat and not thin, but perhaps ‘stout’ fit her best. Brown hair peaked out from under her hat. With surprising strength, she directed Henny to a small clearing in Tent Central. 

“This is where we do laundry and cook, Miss.”

Four other women dressed in those weird empire dresses and aprons turned around and greeted Mrs. Gowan. 

“This is Major Fitzwilliam’s bride, the future Mrs. Fitzwilliam. For today, she is Miss Henrike. Miss Henrike, these are Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Chandler, and Mrs. Green.”

The ladies curtsied and after a gentle nudge by Mrs. Gowan, Henny did her best to copy them. 

She was proud she only wobbled a little bit. 

“Oh, you must be the Major’s soulmate!” Mrs. Green exclaimed. It sounded a bit jealous, but mostly like this discovery was a nice surprise. 

Mrs. Gowan confirmed it. “They are to be married tomorrow.”

“So romantic,” Mrs. Green sighed. 

Henny wasn’t sure she agreed. But then, no one had asked for her opinion, had they?

“Where are you from, Miss Henrike?” 

Henny shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t remember,” she muttered, feeling heat creeping into her cheeks. She stared at the ground, more out of fear she’d give herself away than embarrassment. “I hit my head rather hard at some point earlier and the Major thinks it rattled my brain.”

The ladies then fussed over her. 

To be honest, Henny wasn’t sure why they cared. She was a stranger, after all. Was it because she was supposed to marry Major Fitzwilliam? 

_ Maybe they just want to get to know you _ , a chiding voice suggested. 

They showed her where everything was, asked her if she needed anything for her head, and decided to help her pull together an ‘adequate’ wedding outfit. 

When Mrs. Gowan asked again whether she needed anything, Henny discovered she still had the Major’s handkerchief. 

It had warmed up in the heat of the sun, and dried. 

“Thank you, but I’m fine. May I help you with anything?”

Mrs. Gowan shook her head. “Dear Miss Henrike, you had quite the ordeal by the sound of it. Do not worry about anything but your health for the moment. Now, let me show you where my husband and I are staying. You poor thing look quite done in, if I may say so.”

It should be noted that Henny was probably only about 5-10 years younger than Mrs. Gowan. 

The other ladies all wished her well before returning to their task (needles and fabrics seemed to be involved). 

Mrs. Gowan led Henny to yet another tent. It featured a pull out camp bed, a small portable writing desk, a few trunks, and a small stand in the corner. (For which she would only later learn the use of.)

“Do not worry, Captain Gowan has agreed to stay with Major Fitzwilliam tonight. It will just be us ladies,” the slightly older woman assured her, clearly misinterpreting Henny’s anxiety. 

“Thank you for taking me in on such short notice,” she remembered to say before her manners completely deserted her. 

How long was this dream going to last for? Why wasn’t she waking up?

“It truly is no trouble,” clearly a lie, although well-meant, “and I have missed sharing a bed with my dear sister. It shall be just as in my youth!”

Henny smiled, but felt as if it might be a bit limp. 

“Major Fitzwilliam has arranged for his man to deliver more items for you for tomorrow. You cannot wear this dress to your wedding,” Mrs. Gowan went on, rather decidedly, “It is much too short! I shall see that the hem is taken out and we will do our best to freshen it up.”

Greatitude warmed Henny from the inside out. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Gowan. I really do appreciate it. Please call me Henrike, or Henny, if you’d like.”

Mrs. Gowan smiled brightly. She looked about ready to hug it out, for a second, but didn’t. Stiff upper lip and all that. “You may call me Elizabeth in private.”

Then it was back to business. 

Mrs. Gowan helped Henny out of her dress and the layers below that, except for her chemise. 

“I am sure a good lie down will do much to restore you, Henrike. One of the others will be by with a tray for you later, so do not worry about anything.”

After profusely thanking Mrs. Gowan once again, the woman bustled out of the tent. 

Henny discreetly pinched herself. It hurt but she was still here. That wasn’t supposed to be possible in dreams, was it? 

“Well,  _ fuck _ ,” Henny hissed, flopping onto the bed. 

It wobbled dangerously for a moment, but settled before she fell out. 

_ What if this is  _ _ real _ ?


	2. 2:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No copyright infringement intended.

_ What if this is  _ _ real _ ?

Henny stared up at the canopy of the bed for a long time. She had lost all feeling for how many minutes passed, caught in her own head as she was. 

If this wasn’t a dream, she’d never see her family again. Ever. 

A human could live for well over one hundred years in her time, but even if she managed it somehow in this, she was  _ two hundred years  _ away from the people she loved. Not to mention all the wars and strife in between. 

For the most part, this didn’t bother her too much. Except she would have liked to say goodbye to her grandparents. Told them one last time how much she loved them. 

Eyes burning, she buried her head in the pillow. She bit her lip, hoping to stifle any sounds she was inadvertently making. No need to worry anyone else with this. 

Her shoulders shook as a sob escaped anyway. 

She’d never see her friends again, never tell them how much she loved them, never get to hug them again. They’d never know what had happened to her. 

Henny rubbed her cheeks, hoping her eyes weren’t as red as she was fearing. 

She had lost her home, the world she knew, but the universe had seen fit to provide her soulmate in exchange. 

So far, Henny wasn’t quite sure whether this was worth it. So many people never met their soulmates and lived perfectly good lives. But she had to give up  _ everything  _ to meet hers?

What did she even know about him?

He was a major, son of an aristocrat of some sort, short on cash, but had a servant. His name. He had three siblings, a number of cousins and nieces and a nephew. He was trusted as the guardian of another cousin. 

He carried a  _ prenup _ in his personal belongings while at war. 

And was a presumptuous ass. 

But then what did she know of this time? Of the rules everyone expected her to follow? 

Essentially, she was  _ no one _ . She did not  _ exist _ here. There was nobody who knew what she was like as a child or even two years ago. 

Marrying her would give her a place to belong to, legally, and a readymade family. Providing her with  _ status _ . 

So perhaps they didn’t just have to get married to each other in order to satisfy Society, but also to give her legal standing. 

Why hadn’t the Major pointed that out to her? 

Henny snorted, wiping away the last of her tears. “Maybe he was too busy staring at my knees,” she muttered to herself. 

Okay, what  _ did _ she know of this time? 

Women were the legal property of their husbands. Well, shit. 

Prenups were there to make sure you weren’t left destitute after your hubby died, right? Pride and Prejudice had taught her that. 

And if an unmarried man and woman spent time unsupervised in a locked room, they had to marry or they’d be marked as dishonorable.  _ Unmarriageable _ . 

...Maybe she had watched too many period dramas. 

Henny let her eyes roam around the tent again. There was a pitcher by the stand she couldn’t identify earlier. 

Forcing herself out of bed, she found some fresh, cool water. 

It felt wonderful on her burning cheeks. 

Hey, maybe she’d gotten sunburned on top of everything else. Wouldn’t that be wonderful. 

Having nothing else to occupy herself with, she laid back down. 

Her limbs had grown heavy with exhaustion. Perhaps things wouldn’t look as shitty after a nap?

xxx

There was a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her softly. 

Blinking, Henny tried to orient herself. She was in a tent, in a loaned camp bed she’d share later with a stranger. She’d  _ time traveled _ . Right. 

Rubbing her eyes, to clear away the last cobwebs, Henny sat up. 

Mrs. Gowan — Elizabeth — stood by her side, looking a bit worried. 

“It’s dinner time. Do you wish to join us or would you prefer taking your meal here?”

Henny thought about it for a moment. Being stared at but potentially befriending the other women or staying here, alone with her thoughts?

“I - join you, please. Just a moment,” Henny stood, walking over to the stand she had noticed earlier. Splashing some water on her face, she hoped no one would notice the crusty tear tracks. Perhaps sleeping had reduced the redness around her eyes?

Since there wasn’t a mirror available — at least that she could see — Henny could only hope. 

Mrs. Gowan nodded, giving her a small smile. 

“Am I presentable enough, do you think?” Henny asked, tugging at the loaned clothing. She ran a hand over her hair, hoping it wouldn’t look as Medusa-like as she feared.

“Quite. Everyone knows what has happened so none of them should draw unjust conclusions, dear.”

Mrs. Gowan offered her her arm to link, guiding her to the biggest tent — must be the colonel’s. 

Men in red uniforms milled around the camp, but the colonel stood and talked with the major and a few other men. 

The women Henny had met earlier were also present. 

It was still light out, but dusk was starting to set in. 

Lanterns had been lit, offering some additional light to the people by the colonel’s tent. 

A table and chairs were arranged under a canopy, set with dishes she had never seen before.  _ Oh dear _ . 

The major seemed to have noticed their approach, because he said something to the others around him and came towards them. (After the colonel clapped his shoulder.)

Mrs. Gowan squeezed her arm, smiling at her, before nodding to the major and joining the men he’d just left. 

The major’s eyes ran over her face, probably noticing that she had cried not too long ago. 

Something around his own eyes relaxed, warming them. 

Henny swallowed. Her gaze flickered over the assembled crowd, before returning to hold his. 

“I hope you have rested well? Is your head feeling better?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded hastily, then cleared her throat. “Y- I mean, yes. Thank you for asking. I hadn’t realized how tired I was.”

His hands twitched, as if wanting to reach out and offer some sort of comfort to her. But he restrained himself. 

“Would you take a walk with me later? Mrs. Gowan will chaperone us—“

Henny had already started to nod before he had finished. 

A small smile crinkled the corners around his eyes and mouth, making him much more handsome in her eyes. 

“Thank you. —“

“Fitzwilliam! Introduce us to your lovely companion!” 

Henny’s eyes found the ones of the speaker. A jovial-looking man, not quite as tall as both the major or Henny herself. 

Her soulmate offered her his arm, leading her over to him. 

“This is Captain Gowan. Gowan, my fiancée, Miss Henrike.”

He gave her a smart bow, and Henny did her best to curtsy. 

She was still a bit wobbly, but practice makes perfect right?

“Pleased to meet you, Miss.”

“It’s my honor. I am sorry for chasing you out of your own bed,” Henny averted her eyes, staring at the ground. 

The captain laughed. “Do not worry about it, Miss. I am glad to be of service.”

She smiled at him. 

The major squeezed her arm gently in support. 

Henny glanced at him under her eyelashes, watching him watch them. 

“Come, dinner is served,” Major Fitzwilliam said, leading her over to the table. He pulled out a chair for her even, seating her according to some sort of scheme unknown to her. 

She thanked him quietly, taking in all the dishes and the people around them. 

The colonel was seated at the head of the table, Mrs. Gowan at the other end as his hostess. Or so Henny guessed. 

Captain Gowan sat between Henny and Mrs. Gowan. 

Major Fitzwilliam was next to the colonel, a woman she’d met earlier beside him. There were a few others she’d not been introduced to or had forgotten their names. 

Henny had been distracted by her observations, while the others had begun to fill their plates. 

Shaking herself inwardly, she focused on following suit. Even if she didn’t recognize what was sat in front of her. 

The colonel raised his hand to make a toast, eyes finding her. Something about his look didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t quite pin it down. 

“We are celebrating the coming union of our own Major Fitzwilliam and his lovely soulmate, Miss Henrike. They are to be wed tomorrow. May their union be blessed.”

Heat filled her cheeks at the congratulations thrown in both her and the major’s direction. She thanked those around her quietly, feeling a bit shy at being toasted in front of these strangers.  Only because she was to marry one of them . 

Henny ate tentatively, playing close attention to what was being said around the table and by whom. 

Captain Gowan turned to her, offering her more potatoes. 

She nodded, allowing him to serve her a few. 

“My dear Mrs. Gowan tells me that you cannot remember how you came to be here?” Captain Gowan asked evenly, a frown forming. 

Henny swallowed the bite of potato. “I am afraid not. I only remember waking up with a mighty headache, looking up at the major and his man.”

Ah yes, the interrogation she had expected. 

Henny tried to appear as nonchalant as her interrogator. 

“You speak English very well,” he complimented her next. 

She smiled at him. “Thank you. I hope my accent is not too grating.”

“No — it is a bit strange, but not as odd as some I have come across.”

The clinking and the low conversations around the table filled the silence for a moment. 

Henny took a sip of her water, ignoring the wine someone had graciously poured her. 

“Fitzwilliam thinks you are from one of the German-speaking territories. Do you know which, by any chance?”

Henny looked up, meeting his inquisitive gaze. “I wish. Perhaps it will come back in the next few days?”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, taking a sip of his own wine. 

Deciding to be a bit bold, she did something she probably hadn’t thought entirely through: putting a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, exposing the golden writing on her arm. 

The table quieted, everyone staring at the mark for a long moment. 

Dropping her hand into her lap, she felt heat rushing to her cheeks again. (Being stared at was  _ not _ her forte.)

Captain Gowan and the colonel exchanged a quick look, which she would have missed if she hadn’t watched for it. 

Then her eyes were caught by the major. He smiled gently at her, but only for a second or ten. 

Slowly, the conversations around the table picked up again. 

Henny noted a few looks of envy, but the underlying tension had loosened somewhat, so she was not gonna knock it. 

Captain Gowan grinned at her. “We will just have to find out your hidden talents then. Mrs. Gowan is always willing to help.”

Henny smiled politely, realizing his wife would be used to spy on her until she was trusted enough. Or at least she would report back what she found noteworthy. 

Though had she really expected anything else? 

Mrs. Gowan seemed nice enough, and Henny  _ would _ need her help. And a friend or ten. 

Henny would just have to show that she wasn’t some sort of spy or informer or whatever. And make herself useful. 

“Your Mrs. Gowan is wonderful. I’m very grateful to her.”

Captain Gowan softened a bit, something relaxing in him, nodding.

Mrs. Gowan clearly had heard the last bit, smiling at her husband. 

The rest of the meal passed in a friendly manner, leaving Henny with a full belly and the impression that the Gowans cared very much for each other. 

After a second round of congratulations, the major and her were allowed to go on their walk. 

Mrs. Gowan and her husband followed only a few meters behind, discreetly, but apparently stalwart defenders of propriety. 

Henny inwardly rolled her eyes. 

“I apologize for all the fuss,” the major offered first, talking quietly enough their chaperones would probably not hear. 

Henny squeezed his arm in reassurance. 

“It might seem a bit strange to you, marrying so quickly, and I wish I could offer you a proper courtship before proposing, but we are at war.”

She understood what he didn’t say. 

“I found a priest who will do a ceremony for us, despite no banns having been read, and he requires only one witness. I have asked Smith, and Mrs. Gowan to stand with us. Smith has ridden to the village and acquired a dress for you, though it may require some adjustments.”

Henny nibbled on her lip, wondering if she would get any choice in her own wedding.  _ This _ was certainly not the way she’d imagined it as a young girl. 

He sighed softly. “I hope you do not mind too much.” 

“No, of course not. Circumstances are what they are and we can’t change them. I’m sorry for all the trouble this has caused you, Major.”

“You may call me Richard in private,” he offered next, absently guiding her around a shrub. 

“Thank you.”

“The Colonel as your temporary guardian has signed off on the marriage contract. I will show it to you tomorrow, should you wish it. Smith has managed to procure some additional womanly necessities, and I have prepared a letter to my family.” 

He had been busy, hadn’t he? (And all she’d done was sleep and sob...)

Henny resigned herself and nodded. “I do wish it. Maybe we can discuss rules and wishes tomorrow and write a sort of contract between us? So that we are on the same... page.”

The major contemplated it for a moment — a long moment. She hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be a dictator. 

“That sounds sensible.” 

Henny grinned. “You’ll find I’m  _ eminently _ sensible,  _ Richard _ .”

He grinned, bowing in a way that demonstrated even to her (who was so unused to people doing that — or curtsying) that he was exaggerating. 

Laughing softly, she hooked her arm back under his. Something inside of her relaxed a bit. 

At least he has a sense of humor, she thought, holding his curious gaze. 

“I am sure you are,” he replied eventually, tone entirely serious. 

Then he blinked, directing them away from a group of rather rowdy looking officers. (Were they called officers if they had lower ranks?) 

“I have applied for leave at home so I may introduce you to my family. It may take a while until that is granted however,” Richard added, sending her an apologetic look. 

Shrugging, Henny accepted that piece of news. “I see. Maybe the other ladies can help polish me up a bit so I won’t embarrass myself too much.”

The last she said with her voice pitched a bit louder than strictly necessary, ensuring the other two would overhear. Not too obvious, hopefully. 

Richard’s eyes twinkled with amusement in the light of the small fires. He definitely knew what she was up to.

“The Colonel has asked that they keep an eye on you, especially Mrs. Gowan, but do not let that diminish their offers of friendship — they are mostly sincerely meant I am sure.”

He whispered so low she barely heard even just standing by his side. 

Henny smiled, knowing he was right. But knowing and  _ feeling _ something were two different pairs of shoes. 

Richard seemed to see some of that in her eyes, because he didn’t say anything else. 

“So, tomorrow. What — how— ?”

Fidgeting with her sleeve, she avoided looking at him. 

Richard squeezed her hand gently. They stopped, just looking at each other. 

Henny’s eyes moved from the ground to his face, but hastily returned to the former. 

“We will go in the morning, as soon as you are ready. I was excused from my duties for the day; so we may do whatever you like after the ceremony. Perhaps ride to the village? Unfortunately it is too far to ride to Lisbon proper, I am afraid.” 

Henny thought about it and nodded slowly. “Do they have a bakery?” 

At her probably a bit strange question, he chuckled, but confirmed it. “A small one.”

“Then I would much like to see what they have on offer.” 

Still grinning at her now decisive demeanor, he offered her his arm again. 

Henny pretended she was offended by his amusement, but she was instead feeling a bit sheepish. “Sorry, I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

Richard’s grin widened even more. “I see.”

Grumbling a bit under her breath — for appearance’s sake — they finished their circuit around the campsite. 

Mrs. Gowan led Henny back to the tent they’d be sharing tonight, amusement clear in her expression. 

Once they were alone, Mrs. Gowan began to undress without comment however. 

Meanwhile, Henny tugged on her new clothing, still unsure how all of this worked. 

Looking up, and dressed in what had to be a nightgown, the other woman stopped. 

Henny wasn’t sure how to ask exactly — she had not idea how to put all of this  _ on _ , much less how to take it  _ off _ again. 

“Would you —“ she motioned vaguely down at her skirts, uncomfortable with even having to ask. 

Mrs. Gowan gave her a quick smile, pity clear in her eyes. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

“Oh, dear, you are no trouble,” which was another polite lie, no doubt. 

But Henny watched as Mrs. Gowan quickly and efficiently freed her out of her various layers. (Except for the undermost dress — “chemise”.) 

“Do you remember how to dress your hair for the night?” Mrs. Gowan asked softly. 

Henny blinked. Was she supposed to  _ do _ something with her hair before sleeping? “No?” 

“Alright, watch me.”

Mrs. Gowan then proceeded to thoroughly brush her loosened hair — which reached down to her shoulders! — and braided most of it back, except for the front sections. Those ended up sort of knotted with small scraps of old-looking fabric. 

Then she was given the brush and attempted to copy her. Only there were a lot of those little rags and a lot of hair, and Henny had absolutely no idea what she was doing. 

Mrs. Gowan smiled gently, eventually helping her with those. 

They brushed their teeth (with wooden brushes with hard bristles and some sort of powder, which Henny decidedly didn’t want to know the ingredients of) and washed their faces with water. 

Mrs. Gowan showed her where the chamber pot was — “You do not want to find your way in the dark to the latrines, I assure you.” — and then they sat down on the camp bed. All candles had been extinguished. 

Neither was quite sure how to proceed, so they laid down. 

“Do you know what to expect of — of marriage, dear?” Mrs. Gowan eventually asked. 

Henny blinked. She stared at the tent ceiling, wondering if she was about to receive the Regency version of The Talk. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Gowan sighed softly, but reached out to pat her hand. “I doubt the major will insist on consummating your marriage tomorrow night, not here, in a tent. However, we will move and once you are placed in decent quarters, he will most likely ask for his rights.”

Henny bit her lip to keep her outbursts in check.  _ You’re no longer in the 21st century _ , she reminded herself. 

“His rights?”

“Aye, marriage is for the purpose of procreation — having children. When your husband comes to you, he will kiss you…” 

Henny tuned out the rest of it, because she would scream and really, they couldn’t have that. Occasionally humming, when her input seemed required, she let it wash over her. 

“How do you know you are pre-, er, with child?” 

Mrs. Gowan patted her hand gently, again. “My mother says your monthlies cease and then you might feel ill, tired, and you increase. But to be certain, you have to feel the child quicken. Mother said only to tell the husband once that has occurred.”

Henny frowned, rubbing her arms. Oh, maybe she could use this chance and ask about what to do when she had her next period. Because she seriously doubted that Smith had considered  _ that _ in his purchasing quest. 

“Your monthlies?”

“Oh dear, you must have hit your head quite hard if you managed to forget those,” Mrs. Gowan turned on her side, facing towards Henny. “As long as you are not with child, you will bleed once a month from your nethers. It is natural, nothing to be afraid of. I can show you what we use to keep the blood from going everywhere.”

“Thank you.” 

“My pleasure, dear. If there is anything else, please always feel welcome to ask one of us ladies. We must stick together in this camp full of men,” Mrs. Gowan reiterated— although Henny felt that it was a bit warmer, a bit more genuine this time. 

“Now we should try to sleep. You will marry your soulmate tomorrow morning!”

“Alright,” Henny grinned at the sudden infusion of enthusiasm into her new acquaintance’s voice. “Good night.”

Mrs. Gowan fell asleep pretty quickly, but Henny lay awake for a long time, pondering her new circumstances. 

But she wouldn’t be able to change them anytime soon, so tried to rest as much as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait? *hides*

**Author's Note:**

> This has been ghosting around my head since last year, so I decided to post the first chapter and see what happens. Hope you like it!


End file.
